


You are only coming through in waves (I have become comfortably numb)

by blueberrywizard



Series: Chicago Nights [2]
Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23682034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrywizard/pseuds/blueberrywizard
Summary: "He decided to ignore a voice he had heard, because if it wasn’t here to wake him up, then it wasn’t important. At this point he’ll accept only a cup of freshly brewed black coffee or a kiss on a forehead: anything less waking him up would be considered as an act of treason.A fleeting thought reminded him of something urgent, but he couldn’t remember what it was.Maybe it didn't matter? If it was really important, then it'll come to him, eventually."
Relationships: Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes (Chicago Med)
Series: Chicago Nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686859
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	You are only coming through in waves (I have become comfortably numb)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prouvaire_nif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvaire_nif/gifts).



> Title from Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

  
  


The sheets felt a bit rough against his skin. Maybe one of them forgot to put fabric softener while doing laundry. It happened sometimes, when they were too tired to function properly, but they knew that there were things to be done before they could go to sleep and ignore the world for next at least eight hours. He couldn’t recall which of them was supposed to do laundry this week, but it didn’t matter anyway. He was just glad he could lay in fresh sheets.

He wasn’t exactly awake, but he wasn’t sleeping either. He couldn’t be sure, though. Sometimes dreams felt like reality, and sometimes reality was like the worst nightmare. He had this passing thought about moving, because he wasn’t laying in the most comfortable position, but the bed was warm, and he couldn’t bring himself to move. His body felt too heavy to do it anyway. God, he must’ve been really tired last night, and yet, he didn’t remember how he came home or what he had been doing before falling asleep. Should he get up to work? Or maybe he had a day off? He couldn’t recall anything, but it didn’t matter that much, to be honest. He was perfectly content with laying in bed and sleeping a little more. If he had to work, his phone will tell him. If not - he had a whole day to spend on nothing at all with his loved one by his side. Just like it should be.

He heard liquid dropping faintly in the background. He hoped it meant that coffee machine was running already, and perhaps they could eat eggs for breakfast--

* * *

\--breakfast was as normal as it could be, considering the fact that they still had been a little mad at each other. It wasn’t anything unusual between them, but their last argument had been more heated and therefore - the jabs felt more painful, more like they really tried to hurt each other and less like an actual disagreement. They tried to behave as if nothing had happened, mostly because neither of them liked silent treatment, and they were great at ignoring things that had been bothering them.

It didn’t even matter that they were aware that their argument was childish, and if they only cared a little less or thought a little more, this situation wouldn’t have happened. 

Maybe they just needed more time and space. It had been hard time in the year, with lots of accidents and unexpected medical issues. You never know what you’re walking into when your shifts starts. And somehow, it’s the best and the worst part of their jobs. You can’t predict things, you’re not psychic after all, just human being, and sometimes that means making mistakes, and you need to understand--

* * *

\--understand how did it happen? I can’t, I just can’t, it’s like an awful dream to me.”

Dreams. He had a couple of those recently, which wasn’t really unexpected, but not unwelcomed either. He just wasn’t used to having  _ nice _ dreams. Dreams filled with laughter, sunshine and love, ones that felt almost like memories, because they’re so vivid and detailed, but you know it’s a dream, and yet, you ignore it. 

He kept ignoring a lot of things. For example: he decided to ignore a voice he had heard, because if it wasn’t here to wake him up, then it wasn’t important. At this point he’ll accept only a cup of freshly brewed black coffee or a kiss on a forehead: anything less waking him up would be considered as an act of treason. 

But right now he was quite comfortable and the voices fade away, so he could ignore the whole world a little longer. 

A fleeting thought about car reminded him of something urgent, but he couldn’t remember what it was. 

Maybe it didn't matter? If it was really important, then it'll come to him, eventually. 

Even though he was thinking a bit clearly, minute after minute his thoughts were more coherent, he was too tired to try to get up from bed. But there was one thing he could do anyway - he had been thinking about planning a road trip, somewhere nice, just two of them in a car--

* * *

\--car, please? We're going to be late and I really don't want to argue about it right now?” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't slept well last night, he never did when they had a fight. At this point, his lover's stubbornness didn't irritate him anymore, it only made him exhausted. “We'll talk about this, I promise, but not right now?”

“If you're trying to deflect…”

“I'm not, I just want to go, okay? It's close to a rush hour and traffic is simply awful.”

“I swear to God… Fine, let's go.”

“I don't want to argue with you, I really don't, but-”

“I know. Let's go.”

Things were tense between them, but there it was, the spark of hope. Their communication skills were getting better, but sometimes even the best intentions couldn't make it work. He truly hoped that maybe they could talk about their last disagreement in the evening, because he didn't want this whole impasse to linger. 

The car ride was quiet. Pink Floyd's song filled the slightly awkward silence between them, and he didn't really mind listening to  _ Comfortable Numb _ instead of talking. It helped him focus on the road.

Maybe he had been too focused. Maybe that was his mistake. Or maybe not, who's to say now?

Red light. Yellow light. Green light. Repeat.

Sounds had been calming. Pink Floyd, soft humming, steady breaths. He remembered one evening when they start singing, completely out of nowhere, their favourite songs. He remembered the look in the eye his lover had, and he remembered thinking  _ I want him to marry me. _

So that's what he had been planning. Well, they need to resolve their disagreement first. 

Red light. Yellow light. Green light. Repeat.

It's funny how certain things can linger in memory. He was fairly sure that he'll remember forever their first meeting, their first kiss, a hundred thousand small moments that made him love him so much, more and more every day.

And some sound will haunt him forever. High-pitched squeak of brakes and his name, screamed in horror, before metal plates crunched together, making him black-out.

“Connor!”

* * *

“Connor? Do you hear me? I'm starting to worry, he should be awake by now.”

He should be dead by now. 

His thoughts were more coherent now and with a painful strike of reality, he wished to come back, to be adrift in a vast black void of unconsciousness. His body was in pain, dulled by the drugs, but it was nothing compared to realisation of what had happened.

He remembered everything now. He'll never forget these moments, he never did, neither as a doctor nor as a human being. It helped him to get better and better, but this time it only made him full of grief and sorrow. 

Nothing would be the same again. 

Connor opened his eyes.

* * *

.

.

.

Connor opened his eyes.

And then closed them again for a second. Everything seemed to be so bright, too bright, and too loud. Buzzing in his ears just won’t stop, and shaking his head didn’t make it better - it made him more dizzy and confused. 

_ What happened and can people just stop shouting already? _

He slowly started to register things: he couldn't open his left eye very well, mostly because it was swollen and his eyebrow must've been cut, because his face was almost drowning in blood; his right arm hurt like son of a bitch, it must've been out of socket. His hand seemed to be fine, same as his left side, small miracles. He needed his hands for surgeries.

Then he heard small wheeze. 

_ Oh, no. This is never a good sound. _

He turned his head and if he had been standing, he would've probably fallen down. 

Will, his beautiful, brave, stubborn lover. 

He couldn’t focus. He only saw blood on his face, on his lips, staining his favourite blue t-shirt. God, so much blood. He had no idea where it came from and his hands flew in his direction in an instinctive attempt to help. Another wheeze and even smaller whine made him panic a bit. 

He couldn’t reach him. Not quite enough, not to help him. He was sluggish and his seatbelt was stuck, and he couldn’t. fucking. reach. Will. He was too slow, his brain was filled with cotton and panic.

He started to babble, words mindlessly flowed from his mouth, and he didn’t know if he had been doing it to comfort Will or himself. To ignore what’s in front of him: steadily growing pool of blood and distant stare with life slowly fading away. 

He’s too slow and he can’t help him.

Will coughed and blood spilled from his lips like a macabre waterfall.

Connor was crying. He couldn’t move, couldn’t reach Will more than to hold his hand. He never felt more useless in his life. What was the point of being a doctor if he couldn’t save life of one person he loves the most? 

One faint squeeze of his hand and:

“I love you.” Will said with his one final breath. 

Connor’s heart stopped.

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, Will. Come back. Come back, don’t leave me. Please. I love you, don’t leave me.”

He never heard ambulance sirens finally coming. He didn’t care, they were too late anyway. They asked him questions, and he was sure he had been answering them, but he was too numb to register anything else. 

They put him in the ambulance. The road was torturously slow and the only thing he could focus on was his bloodied hands, because he couldn’t save him. 

There was nothing left, except for shame and guilt that filled him, eating him alive. It was his fault, _his fault, hisfaulthisfaulthisfault._

He couldn’t reach him, because he was too slow. 

And that’s his sin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on prompt from @prouvaire_nif: being too slow to save a loved one and now all you have is regret, self-hatred and too long ride in the ambulance. I hoped I did good, I tried my best. 
> 
> If you have any prompts or ideas let me know and leave a comment! Also I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language.


End file.
